


Reflection

by Antheas_Blackberry



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pining, Post-Armageddon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 23:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20164204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/pseuds/Antheas_Blackberry
Summary: The Apocalypse has been averted and Aziraphale and Crowley are on a bus back to London. Crowley is tired and Aziraphale keeps watch.





	Reflection

The entirety of the bus ride occurred in silence. There was no need for either of them to speak. They were both exhausted; Crowley more so. 

Even for a demon, experiencing the trauma and “loss” of Aziraphale and the book shop, driving his Bentley whilst it was on fire and keeping it together by sheer force of will from London to Tadfield, and then stopping time, made Crowley want to sleep for a century. Or a month at the very least. He knew he didn’t have that kind of luxury and would have to make do with a catnap on this bus and if he was lucky, a few hours before facing down whatever heaven and hell were going to throw at them for spoiling Armageddon. 

Crowley closed his eyes and drifted, his hand secure in Aziraphale’s warm one, knowing the angel would keep watch. 

Aziraphale was tired, more tired than he could ever remember being. He knew Crowley needed the rest more, so he stayed conscious and alert. He used the time to think about the prophecy, obviously meant for their eyes only, trying desperately to figure out what it meant. 

The Principality looked out the window watching Crowley sleep in the reflection. As the bus approached the inner city of London, the headlights of oncoming traffic blurred their reflections together as if they were one, and instantly, the angel knew what must be done in order to save their lives.

It did not take long until they are in Mayfair and the pair unsteadily left the bus and made their way into Crowley’s flat. Crowley was delirious with the need for sleep, but he forced himself to remain conscious so that they could work out a plan. He flopped unceremoniously down on the sofa, Aziraphale following suit; a shadow of his normally prim self. 

Crowley ran a hand across his face. It was still gritty with soot and what he thought was motor oil. He desperately needed a shower or a miracle; he could still smell burning parchment and leather. He shuddered, moving closer to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale leaned closer to Crowley; their shoulders lightly touching. The angel exhaled, as if he remembered how to breathe after the day’s events.

“What are we going to do, Angel?” Crowley asked exhaustedly. What he wanted to do was get into bed, with Aziraphale next to him. If this was his last night alive, he didn’t want to be alone.

Aziraphale sat up slightly; hands folded in his lap had begun to twist anxiously. It was one of his tells, Crowley knew after millennia.

Crowley turned his head, removing his sunglasses and tossing them to the coffee table, purposefully letting his guard down. He hoped this would lessen whatever anxiety Aziraphale was experiencing.

“I think I know what the prophecy means, my dear.” The angel paused a moment. “Do you trust me, Crowley?” He sounded frightened. No, his angel sounded _terrified_.

“For what it is worth, I have always trusted you, Aziraphale. From the very beginning,” he added, his voice breaking. “And I trust you now.”

Aziraphale took that in for a moment and then nodded to himself. “You should get some rest, my dear,” he said softly. “You look terribly exhausted.”

Crowley huffed out a laugh. That was the understatement of six millennia. He rose unceremoniously to his feet.

“Only if you come with me, Angel. If this is our last night on earth, I don’t want to spend it alone.” Crowley’s voice was raw and broken with emotion, his eyes instantly swimming with unshed tears. He held out his hand and waited. He _hoped_.

Aziraphale sat there in stunned silence for a moment, as if there was a war going on within him. He got up after a moment and took Crowley’s hand in his. They stood there, swaying with exhaustion, looking at each other with undisguised fondness.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, cupping the demon’s cheek with his other hand. 

_“Angel.”_ Crowley said; it sounded like a prayer.

When they finally met in the middle, with a kiss, it was as if time had been stopped again. Heaven and hell had ceased to exist; it was only Aziraphale and Crowley together.


End file.
